


Kaddish

by RichelleJoy



Category: Historical RPF, World War II - Fandom
Genre: 1940s, 20th Century, Antisemitism, Betrayal, Broken Promises, Concentration Camps, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Forbidden Love, Holocaust, Internalized Misogyny, Jewish Character, Judaism, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Nazis, POV Female Character, POV Jewish Character, Period-Typical Racism, Post-War, Religion, Religious Guilt, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichelleJoy/pseuds/RichelleJoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaddish is the Jewish prayer for the dead. So I really hesitated to write that sequel. I wondered if Bashert wasn’t better left alone. This piece is particularly gloomy but there was no way things turned out ok for Treyna, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaddish

We tried to avoid each other as much as possible given the whole Dovid situation. It was not easy. Often I felt his gaze on my face and my body. I hated it, or so I thought. I hated myself even more. But days passed and passed. He changed - so did I. Not in a good way.

Until I saw her. I thought all my family had been exterminated, but apparently I was wrong. One cousin had remained. One, among more than 100. But still. One. 

She had always been pious and happy with her lot in life. I wondered what she thought, now. Her body was weary and sickly, but the pride of the Jewish people burned in her eyes. Yes. She would survive, uncontaminated by the unholiness around. She was younger, but she had always been the stronger one. Wasn't it easy to be strong? God was her Rock, Tzurishaddai. I had nothing. God had shown me clearly he did not want me or my people anymore on a certain day, when he let them chase us and murder us, his chosen people, like animals.  
I was on my own, trying to stand straight. I had nothing to lean on.

She had to survive. She did not even know it, but she would have to live not only for herself, but for me. This would be my mitzva, my good deed. My sin, my downfall.

My deal with the devil.

 

Years later, I realize she might have just been the occasion I was expecting. She would never have wanted it, even less accepted it. She would have died for the love of her God happily. She would have hated me, not him, no, not him, for what I was going to do. In retrospect, I even think she would have killed herself to avoid her own flesh and blood breaking what happened to be one of the only rules Judaism and Nazism agreed upon, although for fully different reasons: do not sleep with the outsider.

 

It took time before he understood what I wanted from him, as it had taken me time before I knew what I was craving. Maybe he never thought about it, not even at night, when he had been drinking too much. Or maybe he was only pretending, and he wanted to see how far I would go and cheapen and humiliate myself.

Finally, I gathered my strength and told him about my cousin, one day, while he was reading the newspaper in his armchair. He was first listening distractedly, but soon he put it down.  
"I beg you, Herr Kommandant. I have no one but her in the whole wide world. No one but her, sir," I repeated, more insistent this time.  
"That is truly sad for you. But what makes you think I'm going to go out of my way to save her?"  
"I can... pay"  
"Didn't you tell me you lost everything? What would you trade?"  
I took a deep breath, hoping he did not notice, before answering. "I would give anything."  
"Unfortunately I don't think you own anything, especially here in the camp. You're going to have to be a little more specific."

This was not what I had in mind at all. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to "show my interest"? This was definitely not part of the things I learned at home, or at school.   
I ran a hand through my hair, meeting his gaze, and walked closer to him. "You know what I mean, you are just playing with me" I said. "I have noticed how you look at me, how you... and I always ran away. Well, I'm not running anymore. Do what you want." My voice was shaking, but my resolution was firm.

I thought of taking off my shirt, or some other dramatic move, but this was just too much to ask. I suddenly wished I owned, and knew how to apply, make up. Pinching my cheeks and biting my lips as I saw women doing in lines before health inspections just wouldn’t cut it.

It seemed it took all of his efforts not to let the surprise show on his face. I think, being a young man, it was realistic to expect he had often pictured similar situations with me, of course; maybe some even more "interesting". Late at night, after he had retired to his quarters, he had nothing else to do. Maybe it had only been a matter of time before he forced himself on me - and I can't honestly envision I would have resisted more than necessary to save face -if even-, after the first shock.  
Or maybe he had imagined a more refined situation. A subtle bargain, like this one. No forcing, no shouting, no orders. Just me, giving myself, surrendering control.

I was lost in my thoughts, watching him watch me, when he suddenly grabbed my arms and I found myself sitting on his lap. It was both awful and awesome. I felt something hard, and wondered if it was what the very bad girls discussed sometimes. Could I really have that kind of effect on a grown up, handsome, powerful man? Me, the little Jew?

He was hesitating, as if he didn't know if he should really be doing this to me. But soon he was touching my legs, going up and up and up. I shivered. He stopped, and my skirt fell back down, hiding my thighs. I felt my cheeks blushing. He put his lips on mine. So _that_ was a kiss. First it was nice and slow. I liked it. He took me in his arms and I leaned against him. The swastika. The yellow star. Against each other. But then he wanted more, although I did not imagine there could be more. Soon he was kissing me passionately, almost with rage. I could feel his tongue in my mouth. It was weird, but I got used to it and found myself answering. When I finally did, he pulled me hard against him, almost hurting me. I had never seen him lose control that way, and that was both scary and flattering. I thought of the bad girls again, and hoped I would find a way of dealing with what would follow without too much personal involvement. I started touching him where he was hard. He gasped and moaned.

"Are all Jewesses such whores?". I did not answer but it pained me. It was true, I was enjoying touching him there. I felt curiously wet in the "place", as we say in Yiddish. Did that make me a whore?

"Go on, don't stop".  
I went on for what felt like a long time to me. He asked me to open his fly, caught in passion, but he did not seem so proud of this desire because it was mumbled and he did not repeat it when I didn't obey. Maybe he did not even realize he had been talking and not thinking. He was trying not to moan and thrust, but I could see in his eyes he was totally mine now. I felt what I must call a surge of love, and, grabbing his hand, I put it on my breasts. I wanted him to touch me, to love me. He seemed to go back to himself, and yelled at me: "Don't! I almost finished!".  
He thought I was clearly more knowledgeable than I was, doing it on purpose to shorten the whole thing. I did not understand, and he mistook it for a confession.

"Oh, that's it. You thought it was already over for you, clever girl. I tell you, it is not.". He pushed me roughly back on my feet. I almost fell. My head was spinning. "Now, you lie down on the floor. You weren't expecting to escape it, right?".

As much as I wanted to save my cousin, and as much as I wanted _him_ , I was not sure I wanted us to do what was, in my mind, "what husband and wife do on shabbes night". I did not move. He did not appreciate it, maybe frustrated by what he saw as rebellion, and he slapped me hard. I could not believe this was the man I had been sharing such an intimate moment with, just before.

"Come on. Do you really think this will be enough, Judin? Is your holy cousin only worth some cheap fun? I want _everything_ ". I didn’t recognize him. The intensity of his gaze frightened me.  
I must confess, to my horror, that I wasn't sickened by the demand. I could see that he was also far from indifferent, contrary to what the icy voice tone wanted to convey. He tried to hide he was out of breath. At the time, I thought he was looking at me angrily, because his eyes were huge and dark. I had already caught him watching me like that, but not with such intensity, never.

"Will you make sure my cousin survives? Her name is Marya Lea Berger. Please Herr Kommandant, Marya Lea…". He impatiently sighed and nodded curtly to shut me up. So I stopped fighting, I surrendered, I lied down on the floor. One moment later, he was on me, but he seemed lost in his thoughts.

For some reason, I remembered at this moment what I had heard months ago, a rumour that some Nazis liked to have fun once or twice with Jewish girls, then shot them in the head so no one would know. Then, I had thought, _he_ would never do that. He was not into such things. It didn’t interest him, he was more of a gentleman. How stupid I was. There was no gentleman in war, nor good girls. I tried to think to something else, in vain, and soon I couldn't hold back my tears. I was shaking.

He looked at me with surprise. "Don't be afraid, Treyna. I won't hurt you". His tone was so different from one moment ago. Almost... tender. So was his gaze. I could imagine my bridegroom would have looked at me like this, under the wedding canopy, and smiled like this too. Except Jews did not have such pale blue eyes. Only Aryans. 

But he did not keep his word, and soon he was back to himself. Unless he was back to hiding himself?   
He did not hurt me on purpose, but he did not try to be gentle either, and I could not stifle a small cry. He looked at me strangely. Maybe he thought it was pleasure. But it was not, not from start. I liked the idea that he was inside me, but it hurt every time he moved, and it took some time until I also liked the feeling. Actually at first I tried to fight liking it, then to hide it, but in the end there was just no way. My body was thrusting on its own, and I was running my hands over his uniform, caressing and embracing him. The feeling growing inside me exploded, and I wondered if I was going to die. I would not have minded, dying that way. Thank God he did not comment on how I enjoyed the bargain. I tried not to think of how I was probably bleeding everywhere. I had heard countless horror tales of the wedding nights. The pain. The blood. Sometimes it was the husband who was unable, or unwilling, to do anything. But I had never heard of anything that prepared me for such pleasure.

Soon after it happened, he talked to me again, when most of the act had been silent. "Treyna... You have no idea... how long I wanted it. Such beauty... I really like you, Treyna. I really... feel for you". With that, he held me tight, and I was in heaven. Until he went on speaking. It was clearly harder and harder for him to talk, as if he had been running. "But do not think things will change, Treyna. Do not think they... can... change. Not just because of a little, meaningless... fuck... Got it?".   
My heart skipped a beat. He swore in German, something I didn’t understand. I felt something hot inside me. He got off of me, turned to the side and got up. He wouldn't look at me. I had just no strength left to move or really go on living.

He finally broke the silence, turning to me. "Still here? Go away, Jew. And pull down your skirt, have Jews no sense of modesty? That's disgusting.". He was angry because he could not hide he was not indifferent to what he saw, despite what we had been doing.

Before I left the room, ostensibly looking at me with disgust, he addressed me again.  
"You pushed me to do it. I always despised the men who... Why did you do that? I know, and you know, that it will soon be over. Your cousin has survived until now, she's not sick. She doesn't need any special treatment to make it. In a few weeks, it will be over. You know it. You knew it. And still you agreed to _everything_. _Whore_.".  
I was slightly in pain, more like heavy discomfort, and I could feel I was bleeding, as if I was crying from inside. I had dreamed of that moment, so much. This was so not how I pictured it. Maybe indeed I had thought things could be what they were not. The dream had turned into a nightmare, much like my whole life. It should never have happened like that. But it did. But it did.

 

He did not keep his word this time either. Marya did not survive. She ended up refusing to work on shabbes. It was her, not me, who died with a bullet in the head.  
But I, the sinner, survived to an upside down world, and when the camp was liberated, they thought I was sick, because I would not stop throwing up. They thought I was one of the unfortunate who ate themselves sick after the years of starvation. 

My son was born in America already. I told him I got married secretly in the camp. His father had disappeared, so I could not, and I had no desire anyway, to get remarried. It was not really a lie. My son didn’t really try to look into it, and I assumed maybe he was blessed with not being curious, not reflecting too much, not looking around, not _dreaming_.

I read today, in the newspapers, that he died in prison. I read the articles several times, unable to believe. Almost hoping there was some secret signal for me. From him. A thought, a word. But there was nothing. 

My son is a pious boy. He often tells me he thinks his father was a very special, unique man, with strong beliefs of his own. I tell him he is right. And right, he is. But anything else than the secret marriage story would destroy him, and probably any chance at a decent future in the Jewish community. I don’t even know why I’m feeling I have to express all this now.

My son says kaddish for Marya and for Dovid. He will have to say it for me, too. As I wrote, I don’t have any strength left to go on living.

**Author's Note:**

> Tzurishaddai (Hebrew): God is my rock  
> Mitzva (Hebrew): good deed or thing you must do  
> Shabbes (Yiddish): the Jewish shabbath  
> Judin (German): Jewess  
> Kaddish (Aramaic): Jewish prayer for the dead


End file.
